Lorelei
by Neko-chan -Silvered Tongue
Summary: It is impossible to forever resist the siren's call. Eventually you, too, will be caught.
1. Prologue

_Title:_ Lorelei

_Author:_ Neko-chan

_Fandom:_ Harry Potter

_Pairing:_ Tom Riddle/Harry

_Rating:_ T, eventual M

_Disclaimer:_ I like fiddling around with things that aren't mine. But I'm good at borrowing, and I promise that they won't be missed while I have them during my playtime. ;)

_Summary:_ It is impossible to forever resist the siren's call. Eventually you, too, will be caught.

_Author's Note:_ I wanted to write a semi-modern fairy tale. Hopefully I've managed to accomplish that. :) If not… eh. Well, at least I've produced something for you lot to read? *laughs* Anyway, enjoy—and yes, I've finally just given up on trying to fight off the plot bunnies. They always win, anyway. :| Bloody multiplying bastards…

* * *

"_First you will come to the Sirens who enchant all who come near them. If any man unwarily draws in too close and hears the singing of the Sirens, his wife and children will never welcome him home again, for they sit in a green field and croon him to death with the sweetness of their song. There is a great heap of dead men's bones lying all around, with the flesh still rotting off them. Therefore pass these Sirens by, and stop your men's ears with wax that none of them may hear […]"_  
- _The Odyssey, _Book XII; Homer

* * *

**Prologue.**

**

* * *

**

_31 July 1945  
Sankt Goarshausen, Germany_

It was odd, the dark-eyed man thought as he made his way through the quaint, picturesque streets of St. Goarshausen. With the quiet and the smiles that men and women greeted one another with, the cheery disposition that permeated the entire town—it was hard to believe that both the Muggle and wizarding worlds had immersed themselves fully, had been at war until just recently.

Neither war had ravaged through this small town: and why should it have? St. Goarshausen had not been territorial crucial to either the Allies or the Axis Powers, and Grindelwald had kept most of his attacks to the larger, more densely populated areas of the Continent.

And that left this small, overlooked village, sheltered away from the war that had ravaged the world. It was something that highly amused Tom, though he was fully aware of the fact that there was nothing truly funny about it—just further evidence of how humanity was turned around and irreversibly so with no idea of their comings or goings.

It was with this dark thought in mind that the Englishman slipped into a pub off the side of the street that he was making his way down, closing the door behind himself and immediately catching the barkeep's eye. Making his way over, he offered the man his most charming smile before slipping onto one of the stools before the main bar.

"_Guten Abend_," the wizard said, German flavored with his clipped British accent. The accent, however, caused the Muggle to narrow his eyes warningly, but a mild compulsion spell was all that was needed for the German to slowly lower his defenses. "_Wie geht es Ihnen?_"

The compulsion settled deeper, lower, twining about the Muggle man's mind—so much like the muted struggling of a fly that had been caught in a spider's trap, strands of a deadly web catching and drawing tighter. When the barman finally answered, his voice was friendly and the gaze that he shot to Tom was full of appreciation that made the wizard immediately sick to his stomach. "_Danke, gut. __Was möchten Sie?_"

Not in the mood for eating pub food, Tom hurriedly mentioned that he didn't want anything, but then quickly added made sure to add on, "_Können Sie mir helfen?_" He needed directions to the Lorelei, curious to see the famous rock that so many deaths revolved around—though no one had ever investigated the stories that surrounded the infamous landmark, Tom had grown intrigued as he made his way through Germany towards Albania, deciding to stop by and see if there were any magical reasons why the Lorelei had such a reputation as it did.

It went without saying, however, that when Tom Riddle's "Point Me" spell failed several times in a row, he became that much more piqued about this legendary rock.

With his easygoing demeanor fully erected and the manipulation spell coaxing the Muggles around him to relax despite the fact that he was a foreigner—and obviously British, at that, it took just a moment to charm the crowd into giving him the directions that he needed.

With a smile that never reached his eyes, Tom murmured a quick "_Danke schön._" before once more heading towards the pub's exit. The barman's smile—and interest—deepened further as he retorted with a "_Bitte schön!_" to the eighteen year-old, as well as adding in an invitation to return for a lager of beer once he was done with his sightseeing.

Tom smiled and nodded, though his dark eyes were cold: he had no intention of ever returning once he was done with his investigation. What was the point? These people were Muggles—filthy and barely human. The only reason why he had paid a visit to the pub was because he had been need of information, and the wizard's skin crawled in lingering disgust.

He flipped up the collar of his jacket, hunching his shoulders slightly to hide the movements of his hand—with wand flicking idly, hidden away in his pocket, the contented pulse of his magic surrounded him as Tom cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm.

Eyes drew themselves away from the teen as the recent Hogwarts graduate made his way through the streets and towards the bank of the Rhine and the towering Lorelei rock above him. It was a large rock, one that went up and up and up—dwarfing everything around it and making Tom, perhaps for the first time in his life, feel absolutely miniscule.

It was not a feeling that he enjoyed.

No, not a feeling that he enjoyed—at all.

Pebbles and dirt and sand shifted underfoot as the teen made his way along the shore, keeping well away from the quiet lapping of the waves upon the bank. The water was cold here, perhaps unnaturally so, and Tom began to see that his breath started to fog the closer he got to the looming rock.

The temperature continued to drop despite the sticky heat of a summer night in Germany, and Tom wrapped his jacket tighter about his body, stifling a shiver before it had the chance to escape, and let his mind wander to dragons as his breath continued to fog the velvet-dark night air. His thoughts were as lost as his way and, perhaps, it was the night that had enchanted him so: lowering defenses despite the obvious danger, coaxing him along while the pathways to midnight slowly unfurled and bared the way for the Dark teen.

It was the humming that eventually stilled him.

Beautiful, muted singing, husky and silken as strands of individual notes wended their way through the German sky: no words could be made out in the humming, no recognizable tune, but it was still a song that made Tom's blood surge and body tighten, muscles stretching, stretching, _shifting_ in an attempt to break free and _move_. He craved; oh, how he suddenly _craved_ for that which created the music. It was a nearly impossible feat, but Tom kept himself frozen—nevermind the wide eyes that searched up and down the bank for the source of the Sirenic sound.

The song did not break for several long, long moments and, when it did, it was done so with an amused chuckle. There was no other sound, just silence—the baited breath of the world, a world that waited anxiously to see what else would unfold next—and then there was the dazzling green of spring:

Bright verdigris, emeralds sharp enough to cut, subtle jade that had borne the test of time.

Tom saw the slight form of a teen whose movements were graceful, svelte body moving idly through the wisps of air, night, and spirits of the water—they swallowed him whole until only his enigmatic smile remained, and Tom watched him leave silently, thin lips pursed against the chill that began to settle into his bones.

But his _eyes_…

Oh, his _eyes_…

His eyes flared with sudden crimson.


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One.**

**

* * *

**

The Lorelei rock called to Tom, a song sweetly singing with the beginnings of twilight, as the sun began to slowly sink beneath the horizon—colors of gold and red and butter-yellow tinting the sky with the heart of a flame. Once again, he couldn't make out any words, and yet… the song was so much more haunting because of it. Notes that trilled bell-like wound their way through the humid summer night, air trembling as the song continued—seductively sweet and tempting as it wound through the first night of August. Light faded with the coming of the dark, and twilight deepened as Morpheus began to spread his obsidian-black arms to welcome the encroaching of his realm.

Night fell, and the singing continued to call to him.

Tom shivered, lashes lowering to veil his suddenly darkening eyes, and the young man pushed himself away from the windowsill of his small bedroom, the suite of chambers rented out for the week, and began to make his way towards the door. It didn't take much longer before he glided predatorily down the staircase of the tiny inn, feet guiding him through half-familiar streets and towards the bank of the Rhine.

And Lorelei rock beyond.

The song continued on, never stopping—never once pausing for the singer to catch his breath—and something instinctive, a primal urge, stirred within Tom's belly: a possessive desire that had flared sharply when he had first caught sight of Slytherin's locket within his ex-employer's storefront.

_Mine_, the hidden, midnight-dark part of himself had whispered. The desire to claim, to _own_, had deepened until it was enough to make Tom's teeth ache—and the part-time worker and slipped the locket into his pocket before stepping out of the store, never once looking back. He had left England later on that night to explore the Continent now that the war was at an end, leaving behind the wizarding world and Knockturn Alley before anyone would have had the chance to notice that the beautiful locket had gone missing.

He wore it now, the locket pulsing with both its own innate Dark Magic and the fragment of Tom's soul that he had embedded it with: the locket hovering just above his heart, pulsing in time with each and every beat.

_Mine_, the twisted desire whispered, bringing Tom back to the here and now, crooning gently just as it had done that night the month before. He didn't fight the low murmur, saw no reason in doing so, and the teen's eyes flared with sudden heat as crimson gleamed tauntingly from within his gaze's depths.

_Mine_.

The wizard's boots sent the pebbles and thick, rough sand scattering with each and every step as Tom stepped precariously, following the line of the shore as he listened to the quiet sigh of the surging waves—and the song, the _song_, that called him always closer. Tauntingly close now, hauntingly tempting: the notes dipped lower and Tom could feel the touch of a phantom caress against the cupid's bow curve of his mouth.

He followed the song unerringly, eyes heavy-lidded as the notes continued to twine their way through and along and against the sticky summer night, trilling and crooning and murmuring as the stars up above glimmered and the moon rose full and pregnant through the sky. It was a night of enchantment, magic still lingering from Midsummer and its Eve days before—and Tom's blood pounded harshly in his ears as he finally stepped out from the underbrush to see a slim silhouette stark against the edge of the bank.

The wizard began to make his careful way down the pathway that led to the humming, halcyonic figure—blood rushing, blood throbbing, blood _roaring_ in primeval desire that echoed back to the dawn of time, burrowing and latching onto his Self, his core, as the silhouette turned just enough so that Tom once more caught sight of those haunting, verdigris eyes.

Seeing who it was that he had once more caught, the unearthly creature slowly smiled and lowered his lashes to veil his gaze, eyes going heavy-lidded. The song stopped with one last, echoing, trilled note—and mist from the water began to head towards the banks of the river, thickening the air and making it difficult to breathe. The figure began to become obscured, fading from sight—

And Tom loped forward on long, neverending legs that stretched and stretched and _stretched_ far and reached out to catch the siren before he had the chance to disappear the way that he had the night before. The wizard buried his fingers possessively in thick, raven-dark hair and Tom's mouth descended to catch the other's in a searing kiss: lips brushed, coaxed, parted just enough to tease oh-so temptingly with a tongue at the other's bottom lip. Fingers brushed over the chiseled edge of his jaw, and Tom surprised himself at how he shuddered at the touch, at the teasing caress. Power and magic surged while the air shimmered as it often did during too-hot summer days—and Tom pulled the creature towards him as the kiss deepened, heart and already-tattered soul purring out a velvet-rough _Mine_.

He moaned quietly into the kiss and shifted so that he might be able to draw the siren, the lorelei, closer to his body; but it was during the shifting of his embrace that the creature slipped away. Lips kiss-swollen and kiss-bruised, the lorelei smiled as enigmatically as before: a single note kept Tom frozen in place, feet rooted firmly to the earth as his magic peaked in an effort to break free of the creature's spell.

The other gave another quiet chuckle, vert eyes brightening in an impossible sort of way as he watched Tom fight and fight _hard_ against the breathtakingly beautiful song. "Perhaps one day," the lorelei whispered, words winding up and down the scale as it would have done in a canticle. "Perhaps one day, you'll be strong enough to fight off the enchantment. But that day is not today, _Liebling_."

Tom trembled slightly, eyes tinted the color of holly berries as the word _Mine Mine Mine_ continued to whisper, beating out a instinctive rhythm within the curve of his ears and the hollow of his chest. "Why does your song call so strongly to me?" the teen asked as his fingers curled tightly, tucking themselves protectively against the palms of his hands—balling into fists, though there was no real desire to strike the siren before him.

The other slowly faded from view, but not before he gave Tom his answer:

"Because I am lonely."


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two.**

**

* * *

**

Darkness whispered over the earth, breathing secrets and murmuring against the ears of sleeping mortals; the power ebbed and flowed, twining itself teasingly—tickling down sides and carefully, gently, pressing soft kisses over the winged arches of a hip. The world slumbered, chests rising and falling in the embrace of night—the world dreamed, caught up in tantalizing tales of make-believe.

Tom Riddle made himself comfortable on the trunk of a fallen tree: his legs stretched out before him, and he watched as twilight faded to true night from beneath half-lidded eyes. His weight rested upon his hands as he leaned back, absently watching the surge and retreat of the water of the Rhine upon the shore.

He had been sitting here since sundown.

And he would spend the entire night here, if need be.

Time trickled past, seconds ticking and bleeding into minutes and hours: the night trailed away from him, as unobtrusive as a lover's caress, and still Tom waited—for the first time in his life, patient for what was to come.

It was only until midnight tolled the time in ringing strokes from the town's clock tower that the other, however, finally allowed his presence to be known. Pebbles scattered along the pathway, pattering down the incline to rest amongst the roots of the trees or where the river kissed the earth.

The wizard glanced up at hearing the sounds, dark gaze searching along the shore and the shadows and the mists that were the physical manifestations of the river's breath—the Rhine's inner soul, a mixing of air and Adam's ale. The figure slowly formed amongst the fog, and Tom's eyes slowly narrowed as he watched the vert-eyed creature step out to be kissed by moonlight.

"You came," the lorelei murmured in that lilting, sing-song voice of his. The notes, the tone rang as pure as an angel's choir, trilling through the air and making it shudder at the pure beauty of the creature's voice. Tom trembled slightly, and his fingers dug into the rotting bark beneath his hands in an attempt to anchor himself.

He had been at the mercy of the siren twice before.

Now, however…

_Now_ would be different.

"Did you think that I wouldn't?" Tom eventually asked, his words blasé and oozing nonchalance as he continued to watch the siren from beneath his lashes. He did not move from his perch atop the tree trunk, but it took a great deal of his strength to keep himself in control of this encounter.

The siren laughed softly, tinkling bell chimes echoing through the muted sound. "No, I knew that you would," the creature who looked nothing more than a sixteen year-old teen murmured in answer. "I did, however, believe that it would take some coaxing on my part to get you to return, _Liebling_."

"I thought to circumvent that," Tom answered simply.

"And you did, didn't you?" The question was rhetorical and, even for just a brief moment, Tom could see the sharp glimmer of amusement in the lorelei's gaze as he looked the wizard over. Idly, as if he could no longer resist the curiosity that the dark-eyed human posed, the siren slowly began to meander his way closer.

Tom could see that the other wore nothing more than a pair of dark baggy trousers that rested low on his hips; his chest was bare, edged with moonlight, and the siren moved with an absent, unconscious grace that Tom knew that he could never truly be able to emulate. The other looked comfortable with his lack of clothes, ignoring the brief chill in the air—and Tom, if he was honest with himself, didn't mind the skin displayed. He was a Slytherin, the Heir, and he contentedly drank in the sight before him from beneath lidded eyes that gleamed crimson in the darkness.

As if amused by Tom's expression, the siren reached out and lightly trailed a finger over the chiseled arch of the wizard's cheekbone, his own lips curling up in a slight, beautiful smile. Warning, Tom turned his head to the side to catch that pale digit between his teeth, capturing the lorelei and keeping him from pulling completely away.

"You taste of the Abyss and of soul magic," the siren murmured aloud, head canting slightly to the side as he ran too-long fingers through Tom's hair with his other hand instead of attempting to free himself. "You are not a kind man, nor a moral one. You are a Dark practitioner—and yet I wonder why it was you who answered my song?"

Tom did not bother answering the creature.

With eyes glowing with the taint of hellfire, the wizard reached up to wrap his arms around the lorelei's waist, coaxing the boy closer to him; his embrace tightened possessively and he shifted so that the siren was straddling over his hips: pressed chest to chest, Tom sighed quietly and his breath caressed tantalizing over the cupid's bow of the lorelei's mouth.

"Does it matter why?" Tom asked as he quirked an elegant brow, and his hands slowly eased over the svelte body that pressed just-so against his own, the elder's hands cupping over the curve of the other's rear. "I heard and I answered. And I have decided that I want you."

The lorelei laughed delightfully. "Silly mortal," the emerald-eyed siren crooned, lips slipping into a teasing smile as he held his mouth just far enough away from Tom's own so that his words caused their lips to brush—but could never be counted as a true kiss. Tom growled softly at that and leaned in closer to steal what he wanted, but the siren's fingers were suddenly tightening in his hair and keeping his head still. "Haven't you yet realized that it is truly the other way around? You answered my song, but now it is _I_ who decides if you're worthwhile enough."

It was the last statement that had Tom digging his fingers possessively over warm, firm skin, cloth bunching beneath his grip, and the wizard shifting just enough so that he and the siren were pressed hip to hip.

"Any witch or wizard back in Britain would be falling over themselves to have my regard," Tom hissed angrily at the assumption that he would be denied what he very much wanted: this siren. And all the while, his eyes shifted to a deeper and darker shade of crimson.

The lorelei smiled at that, sharp-edged and dangerous, reminding Tom—perhaps belatedly so—that sirens had always been predators, breathtaking creatures who took joy in stealing the lives of men. With the wizard temporarily distracted, the lorelei shifted and used his weight to knock Tom backwards—pinning him down upon the trunk of the tree that he had settled upon before.

"And yet you did not choose any of them," the siren pointed out, whispering against the bow of Tom's mouth. "You left all of those potential suitors and beaus and mates behind—and you still responded to my song. There is something in you that is drawn to me, and you know that there is no one in this world who will catch your attention the way that I already have."

"Bastard," the wizard hissed, syllables shifting and straining as they dipped a little bit into Parseltongue.

Intrigued, the lorelei tilted his head to the side to inspect the wizard beneath him before quirking a small smile. "Perhaps," the siren admitted, amused. "I knew neither my mother nor my father, so your accusation might hold credence."

Wanting nothing more than to silence the creature, Tom drew the other's head down to capture the siren's mouth with his own—this kiss, unlike the night before's, so much more aggressive and domineering. His tongue parted the green-eyed boy's lips, delving possessively as his tongue stroked slowly against the other's. The siren moaned softly, and Tom felt a surge of triumph rise within him as his teeth scraped teasingly against the boy's lower lip.

It came as a surprise, then, when the lorelei broke the kiss to straddle above him on all fours, panting softly—from just a kiss. From _Tom's_ kiss.

"A courting," the lorelei whispered huskily, verdigris eyes endlessly deep as they met and held Tom's own crimson. "Three gifts and three gifts only—and I shall determine my decision from what it is that you have to offer me."

"Starting tonight?" Tom asked as his brows furrowed slightly.

The smile that the lorelei gave to the wizard then was impish, sly and an expression that was utterly worth of a Slytherin. It made Tom ache with desire, and his fingers dipped just beneath the edge of the waistband of the siren's pants to caress over too-warm skin. "Starting tonight," the siren confirmed before a hand darted out to pin the teasing arm above Tom's head.

The wizard was silent for several moments as he contemplated.

Finally, however, he propped himself up on the elbow of his free arm and tugged his captured limb free. Watching the siren from beneath his lashes, Tom lifted Slytherin's locket up from his own neck before gently settling it over the lorelei's head; the gold gleamed silver under the light of the moon, and the locket itself dipped low between the hollow of the teen's collarbone and eventually settled, pulsing quietly and in contentment, over the siren's heart.

Silent for now, the vert-eyed boy reached up and lightly fingered in the locket, glancing down to trace the serpentine "S" with his gaze. His mouth pursed as he eyed the sliver of Tom's soul—the second Horcrux that he had made—and let the nighttime shadows veil his thoughts from the wizard.

Eventually, after the seconds ticked by and stretched on in an impossible forever-and-ago moment, the lorelei gave a slight nod and leaned forward to seal his acceptance of the gift with a kiss: this one, unlike the kiss that Tom had stolen earlier, flared with magic and heat, burning the two hotter and hotter as magic in its infancy twined around their bodies—drawing them closer and tighter, kindling to a slow blaze where lips brushed lips. Tom could feel some sort of agreement settling into his very bones, entwined with his essence, and the wizard arched up with a snarl, wanting moremore_more_.

Tom shuddered and reached out to draw the siren closer—

But the green-eyed minx drew away with an all-knowing, _too_-knowing smile, sashaying away from the stunned wizard. "Your first gift is acceptable," the siren murmured with a quiet, playful chuckle. "I shall meet you again tomorrow—and then we shall see if your second gift continues to pass—and, _perhaps_, exceed—my criteria."

The wizard could do nothing as the mists from the riverbank once more enveloped the creature within their hold, cloaking the siren from view as the obsidian-dark shadows of the night once more crept ever closer as the witching hour made itself known.

_Mine…_ his soul sighed, crooned, while the figure disappeared completely from his sight. His body tremored, throbbed, quivered at the loss of the solid form that had just been in his arms—ached to kiss, to possess, to claim for his own: body to body, soul to tattered soul, magic to magic—_Mine…_

"Not yet. But soon," Tom purred.


	4. Chapter Three

_Author's Note:_ Starting this chapter, the rating for _Lorelei_ is getting bumped up to the eventual "M" that I mentioned in the beginning for… um. *coughs* Well. 0:D Furthermore, there will only be two more chapters after this one—I wanted to write a short story that was somewhat abstract and vague, but detailed enough for readers to piece together on their own—a fairy tale that didn't give everything away. Last chapter will _very much_ be rated "M." *facepalms* You've been warned~

On a side note for names: "Harry" is the English version of the French "Henri," which has its roots in the German "Heinrich"—and the name "Heinrich" also plays another important role, which is obvious once you get to the citation at the end of the chapter. ;)

* * *

**Chapter Three.**

**

* * *

**

Tom Riddle sat sprawled comfortably over the window seat that remained tucked away in the corner of his rooms, lashes lowered as he watched the people of the small German town go about their business on the streets below. It was just past two in the afternoon, and the wizard had been awake since he had gotten back the night before.

His mind whirled with thoughts, considerations, musings that never made their way past the thoughtful glaze of his hooded eyes. Tonight would make a second night, the second gift: and Tom did not know what he might be able to give that would win the lorelei's regard. All he had taken within him during his trip over the Continent were some clothes, some money, several books that he hadn't been able to read while attending school, and his two Horcruxes—the diary and the locket. The locket he had given away last night since he had been very limited in his options, and he wouldn't risk giving away the second Horcrux to the siren; besides, what was unique about giving over a second piece of one's soul when the recipient already had been given the first?

Tom was very limited on options—and on time.

The young wizard sighed softly and pinched the bridge of his nose as he allowed his eyes to fall shut: thinking, _thinking_, scrabbling through plots and schemes and thrown-away contemplations regarding what it was that he could give to the siren that would make this _courting game_ worthwhile in the end. Anything haphazard and not thought-out would be immediately rejected. And if that happened… well, the wizard knew that there would be no second chances.

It was strange, though, finding himself at odds in such a way: never before had he put much stock in other wizards and witches' regard—finding the quality of their intelligence and of their blood substandard, not fit to match his own pedigree. They were all droll and dull, and Tom found himself bored to tears in most of his daily conversations with his peers. There was no challenge, no spark, no true interest—and that was what made his interactions with the lorelei so… intriguing.

The creature wasn't even human and yet he found himself drawn.

_Why..?_

Tom sighed once more and roughly scrubbed his hands over his face, forcing himself to wipe away the confusion and the twisted desire, the craving that settled low in his belly as a possessive intent caressed over his nerve endings. He _wanted_, almost desperately so, and that want left Tom leery of this game that he had entered into. And yet… Yet.

Yet Tom couldn't find it within himself to pull out of the game.

And thus, the wizard was still left with the problem of deciding upon what it was that he would present to the green-eyed beauty tonight. With the hours trickling on by, Slytherin's Heir knew that he was slowly being pressed for time: but, still, was caught in the dilemma of trying to decide on what he might be able to present to the siren.

Eventually, however, the teen put aside his various ruminations and instead unfolded himself from his lazy sprawl to change quickly into some Muggle clothes, well-dressed and without a wavy hair out of place, and headed down to the streets below so that he might search for a bookstore—and, with any luck, some answers.

* * *

_Once upon a time_, Tom read with a sneer—for no Muggle fairy tale could start without that particular phrase. _Once upon a time, there was a woman whose hate and love were both so equally strong that she died of the poison created from the two emotions, the ardor and the despondency slowly eating away at her sanity, feelings that curdled darkly within her and came to a crux when she finally threw herself off from the rock that borders the Rhine. Her name was Lorelei._

Disgusted with his findings—what little they were—Tom finally snapped the book shut and placed it back upon the shelf, glancing away in annoyance. The stories that he had found all had to deal with the legends around the lorelei, and none of the tales were applicable to his immediate situation.

For one thing, all previous lorelei were—apparently—female.

This thought was enough to make Tom snort slightly in derision for, after all, _his _particular lorelei was most assuredly _not_. But that then begged the question: Why? Why was the siren that called so strongly to him different from all the others that he had spent the day reading about? There were no answers, however, and the wizard knew that it would be unusual to have them coming _at all_: he hated having to think on his feet but it seemed as if he had no other choice in this particular situation.

And Tom still didn't know what it was that he could gift the lorelei with.

He scowled then, giving the books his dirtiest glare.

"_Guten Tag_," came a voice that suddenly intruded on the wizard's foul mood; the bookstore's clerk greeted Tom with a slight smile as the other man finally wandered over to the wizard—the wizard who had been going through the books on the town's legendary siren for the past hour or so.

"_Guten Tag_," Tom answered, his own 'good afternoon' rather curt and clipped. He glanced at the clerk from the corner of his gaze and then looked away; dismissing the mousy man, the dark-eyed teen turned and headed towards the door to the small shop, intending to just leave and wander about until sundown—hoping, perhaps, to come up with an idea regarding the second gift.

However, the shopkeeper reached out and stopped Tom from leaving completely with the hand upon the teen's arm—stilling him with a surprisingly firm hold. The Brit's lip curled slightly in disgust, and the German man, in return, just smiled jovially though his eyes were shockingly hard, like granite.

"Try this one," the man murmured his suggestion, offering a slim volume of German poetry to the youth. His fingers remained wrapped around Tom's forearm until the wizard finally caved and took the book from the Muggle (or _was_ he a Muggle? Tom wasn't quite sure, not anymore). Relinquishing his hold on the dark-eyed teen, the man left to putter about in a different area of the shop, which then left Tom to his own devices.

The black-haired Brit frowned down at the tome before silently sighing and flipping open the cover to page to the table of contents. When he got to the page in question, however, Tom did have to admit that his interest was piqued: there was a poem titled "Die Lorelei." A dark gaze roamed over the poem, a slight frown tugging his lips downwards, but Tom's roving attention stopped and slowed and contemplated one particular stanza of the poem.

_Den Schiffer im kleinen Schiffe  
Ergreift es mit wildem Weh;  
Er schaut nicht die Felsenriffe,  
Er schaut nur hinauf in die Höh'._

Silently, he translated the poem's lines within his mind, mouth slipping into a moue of thought and consideration as, perhaps, an idea came to him—dangerous, truly, but Tom knew that at the very least his diary guaranteed his immortality, so… He shook his head and banished the worry from his mind.

_In his little boat, the boatman  
Is seized with a savage woe,  
He'd rather look up at the mountain  
Than down at the rocks below._

There was very little that he could do, otherwise.

* * *

Light slipped away slowly and made room for the night, darkness creeping slowly across the land as Tom stood comfortably atop the crest of the Lorelei rock, watching absently as moonlight danced over the crests of the waves below. His fingers traced idly over the railing that stood between him and the plummet towards Death, and most people would be second guessing themselves right about now—but Tom remained firm.

He smiled, though, as he picked up the whisper-silent steps of his siren.

"_Guten Abend_," the wizard murmured quietly as his fingers curled slightly over the rough metal of the rail. It was flimsy, nowhere near as strong enough to support the weight of a fully grown man if he—perhaps—decided to lean upon the barrier. The smile that Tom gave to _that_ particular thought was a crocodile's one.

"_Guten Abend, Liebling_," came the siren's easy response, and Tom glanced over his shoulder to meet emerald-bright eyes, a pitch-black head tilted slightly in curiosity—maybe wondering why it was that Tom was up here when he typically favored being much closer to the shore. To the wizard's smug satisfaction, however, the lorelei was comfortably wearing Salazar Slytherin's locket about his neck with the gold still gleaming silver beneath the gaze of the moon high above. "You came again—coming to me without hearing my song."

The statement was threaded through with curiosity; perchance, as well, Tom heard an undercurrent of appreciation, of gladness, at the frank statement. It was hearing that subtle thread of emotion that the wizard knew that tonight's gift was the right one.

"I had a rather difficult time coming up with tonight's gift," Tom admitted in a strange surge of honesty. "I own very little, consider even less truly valuable. The locket around your neck is actually one of my most valued possessions. What I have left with me are mostly trinkets—small things that are easily replaced."

The siren's mouth curved in a small, knowing smile. "So you have no gift for me?"

"No, I do," Tom answered in a low voice, a quiet chuckle twining through his words. The lorelei said nothing to this statement, however, instead just cocking his dark head further to the side—and waited. Continuing, the wizard said, "You and your family—lorelei and the other sirens—sing and humans respond; they can't help themselves, so immersed are they in your songs. I'm correct in thinking this, am I not? So this is my gift to you: Knowledge that your song enchants me, but will not kill me. You will never have to fear causing my death."

The green-eyed boy's mouth pursed in thought, gaze dark as he eyed Tom from beneath velvet-thick lashes, and finally lips parted to tentatively trill several sweet, crystal-fine notes that echoed hauntingly over the water of the Rhine.

With hellfire-tainted eyes, Tom smiled slowly and allowed his body to lean precariously against the too-weak railing; it broke beneath his weight and the wizard went tumbling over the cliff's edge to fall towards the rocks and the churning surf below.

Even as he fell, Tom's gaze remained upon eyes that were too dark and too full of knowledge in an otherwise youthful face: this was a scene that the lovely creature had seen many times before, this was a scene in which the siren already knew the ending of.

The only difference, though, would come with Tom's gift:

His survival.

* * *

Tom awoke to darkness and warmth and the gentle lapping of water against a shore. There was the familiar tang of the river, the scent that he associated with underground caverns from all of his time spent in the Chamber of Secrets, and there was, as well, the comfortable scent of a foreign sort of spice: unrecognizable, despite the years of Potions that the wizard had had while attending Hogwarts.

There was a weight, too, tucked against his side, and it stirred with feline grace as the teen's eyes slowly opened. "You are a rather foolish sort of mortal," his siren's voice whispered huskily against the delicate curve of Tom's ear. The teen shivered and reached out through the ebon-dark to curl his fingers over the lorelei's waist.

"Words wouldn't have been enough for the second gift. Undeniable proof needed to accompany the claim," Tom murmured tiredly, once more closing his eyes so that he could perchance slumber for a bit longer with the comfortable weight of the siren's presence at his side.

There was silence for a moment or two, the wizard discovering that he was starting to unconsciously relax while listening to the steady rise and fall of the chest next to his own, but then the siren broke it as he spoke once again: "What is your name, _Liebling_?"

Tom paused, considering giving the other "Voldemort" as his answer. And yet… that felt like he was cheating for some reason, that the reply wouldn't be as genuine as it could have otherwise been. And yet… and yet. "Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Tom," the lorelei repeated in a hushed tone, rolling the vowel, the "o," and drawing out the other letters of the wizard's full name until it was something recognizable only to the siren. Tom listened, bemused, but not questioning the apparent ritual. Who knew what the vert-eyed creature thought, musings hidden behind a too-knowing gaze? Eventually, however, the siren sighed quietly and eased up the length of Tom's body to press a surprisingly chaste kiss against the wizard's mouth. "You may call me 'Heinrich.'"

"Your name?" Tom asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"No," came the siren's—Heinrich's—amused reply. "But if I must have a name, I suppose that it's nice enough." The lorelei chuckled quietly and finally shifted then to settle his full weight over Tom's sprawled body: straddling the wizard, the boy dipped his head down to steal a second kiss.

His tongue coaxed Tom's lips to part, trailing delicately over the edges of the wizard's teeth. He found a small chip that Tom had gotten when he was five or six and had fallen down the stairs after one of the other children had tripped him. Tom had always tried to ignore it whenever his tongue brushed against it, finding it an intolerable reminder of his time at the orphanage, but the fascinated exploration, the attention that the siren paid to it… Tom found himself not minding, not minding _at all_, and his hands came up to slide into messy, raven-dark hair. He deepened the kiss further and used his hold upon the siren to gain control of the kiss.

It was slow and wet, each finally taking his time with the other, and the magic purred in contentment as it stroked over their skin. It took its time in rising, meandering its way around the pair as it cloaked their bodies with instinctive knowledge, primeval ritual that so few wizards remembered and that the sirens embedded in each of their notes.

The magic ebbed and flowed, and when it suddenly sparked with sharp intent—Tom distracted briefly by the quiet surge that burrowed deep within his belly—the lorelei smiled with cat-like satisfaction and eased a too-pale hand beneath the waistband of Tom's trousers.

Fingers curled possessively around the other's cock, and Tom inhaled softly in both surprise and sudden pleasure at the too-warm sensation of fingers gliding over sensitive skin. His eyes fell shut and his hips arched to meet each stroke—both starkly quiet, however, except for the soft growl that slipped past Tom's lips as he drew the lorelei's head down so that he could bite at the juncture of the boy's throat. Tom marked the siren, teeth scraping and bruising, as the other languidly stroked him to orgasm. Neither happened to be in any rush, and Tom allowed the hungry _Mine_ to purr through his soul as his lips sealed over salt-tinged skin to darken his love bite.

The caresses came leisurely, the body above him rocking in absent pleasure as the lorelei allowed Tom to mark him, and the wizard couldn't help but marvel subconsciously over just how _good_ it felt to have the siren's fingers wrapped around his cock. He'd had lovers, bodies that joined him in bed off-and-on, but never before had such activities felt so sinfully decadent—absolutely perfect in the most intimate of ways.

Minutes later, perhaps hours—time blurred into one endless stream now, with no ending and no beginning as it merged into a long string of "present," of "now"—Tom reached the cusp of pleasure as a muted gasp whispered in a ghost-like kiss against the hollow of Heinrich's throat—

And the lorelei pulled away, body pressing here and there against Tom's shuddering own, and then he felt heatwarmthtoohot_wet_ around his cock, lips wrapping leisurely around his erection—and Tom buried his fingers into pitch-black hair, arching up in masculine, smug satisfaction as he came—

_Mine_, his soul breathed silently as a tongue traced along the edge of Tom's hip.

_Oh, yes_, Tom purred back.

* * *

* "Die Lorelei" by Heinrich Heine; 1822  
Original and translation - poemsintranslation . blogspot. com /2009/ 11/heinrich-heine-lorelei-from- german .html

_On a random note:_ "Die Lorelei" and "Der Erlkönig" (the latter by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe) are my two favorite German poems, and both have been put to music. Awesome renditions of the two poems are available to listen to, and it's fun reading along to the music using both the various translations and the originals. /geek If I feel up to it, I might do my own fairy tale version of "Der Erlkönig," as I am with "Die Lorelei." Maybe. If I'm not being lazy. *laughs*


	5. Chapter Four

_Author's Note: _Good luck, brightsun89, on your mid-term week~ Here's the "rabbit's foot" that I promised you. *cheers and roots you on in such a way that only an obnoxious older sister can do* ;)

* * *

**Chapter Four.**

**

* * *

**

The second time that Tom awoke, it was to mosquito netting—fabric thin and sheer enough that the wizard could easily see through it to his surroundings—raw-silk sheets, muted, predawn light, and the svelte form of his siren—the siren who was currently sprawled possessively over the dark-eyed teen's chest.

Tom couldn't stop his pleased chuckle—and, then again, why would he want to?—while his eyes went heavy-lidded as his fingers slowly began to card through thick, messy hair. The slight weight stirred idly, but only to smooth a pale hand over Tom's equally pale belly before shifting just enough to tuck his face against the hollow of the wizard's throat. Heinrich was obviously comfortable and was just as obviously not planning on waking any time soon; and if that was the case… why not take advantage of this quiet time?

The wizard had never seen the lorelei in the light. _True_ light.

Darkness had always obscured his sight, shadows had stretched and hidden that what he had wanted to see the most. There had only been moonlight, half-light at the very most: dawn was still a little ways away, but there was enough of a glow coming from the cave's entrance that Tom was finally—_finally_—able to see the other as he had wished all along.

The lorelei—Tom realized full well that he needed to start reminding himself to call him "Heinrich"—was done in a series of contrasts: pale, silver-kissed skin; full, red lips—mouth bruised now, impossibly so, from last night's activities; hair that was as dark and as crisp as a raven's wing, midnight-blue highlights shining strong and clear in the muted predawn incandescence; and eyes, eyes that were shut now in contented sleep, but eyes that were as sharp and as hard as emeralds and as bright, as lush as springtime growth: illuminated viridian, and Tom wanted that verdigris gaze to only ever look at _him_.

The possessiveness should have been worrying.

But Tom _wanted_ too much to care.

He dipped his head then, lips pressing lightly against the love bite that he had left upon the bend of Heinrich's throat the night before. His tongue flicked teasingly over the mark and he hummed in contentment when the lorelei shivered and finally opened his own eyes to look up at Tom.

"I did not expect you to awaken so soon, _Liebling_," Heinrich murmured softly as he shifted so that he was sprawled even more thoroughly over Tom's chest, the lovely creature's weight so sylphlike that it was almost as if he was not truly there: a being forged of silver, of springtime, of moonlight, and of shadow. There was a pause between the two of them then, and Heinrich's head tilted to the side as he looked up at Tom: suddenly, however, there was yet another glimmer of amusement—as if he was following the wizard's thoughts—and the slim figure eased up higher to press a kiss to the edge of the elder's jawline.

"You have a five o'clock shadow," the lorelei murmured with eyes that watched Tom from beneath the thick veil of his velvety lashes: obviously delighted with that particular fact as his teeth scraped over the wizard's somewhat roughened skin, nuzzling absently in affection.

"You're surprised at that," Tom said quietly in answer, quirking an eyebrow down at the catlike creature as his fingers threaded through thick, dark hair to tug gently at the silky strands. The siren shivered at the pull, biting down just a bit more roughly in answer. Tom knew that now he, too, would be carrying a bruise—but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Much.

"Mmm… no," came Heinrich's absent answer as he moved over Tom's lax body, idly straddling over the wizard's bare hips. He flashed a smile then, as fast as quicksilver, and smoothed his fingertips over the other's chest and belly—flicking at the elder's nipples with fingernails that gleamed like shells. Tom managed to stifle the gasp, but couldn't stop himself from arching up into the teasing touch. "Not surprised. Curious."

"Why?" Tom asked as he reached out and captured Heinrich's hands with his own, drawing the lorelei closer so that they might settle chest-to-chest. He nipped the green-eyed boy's lower lip, drawing it into the wet warmth of his mouth, and allowed himself just a brief taste of what he wanted most—a kiss—before finally releasing Heinrich so that the siren might answer.

Leaning forward further, Heinrich's lips brushed against the sensitive curve of Tom's ear as the lorelei whispered in a clandestine manner, "Because this is what I'll look like until the end of time; I shall never grow older, _Liebling_."

Tom shivered and stared up at the canopy of their bed.

* * *

His thoughts wandered.

The wizard sat just above the waterline, trousers rolled up to mid-calf so that at least his feet could brush against the river as it breathed and kissed the earth in never ending affection. Tom's gaze was hooded, completely crimson as he immersed himself in Dark thoughts. He wondered as he wandered, watching the Rhine while his consciousness flew far, far away.

He would never die.

His Horcruxes guaranteed this. He would grow older, true, and his body might fade—but should the body be lost, his spirit would retain awareness and he would have the chance to gain a new body to cloak his Self in. It was the not knowing, the Abyss that represented the Unknown that frightened him most—not wanting his consciousness, his sense of Self to end at his death. The Horcruxes that he made would ensure that he remained tethered to this plane of existence.

But that was all that they promised.

To gain immortal _youth_…? Ah, that was a completely different problem that Tom now knew that he would have to address. But it was an issue that he would solve; after all, he had been able to discover more about Horcruxes, even through the obstacles that Dumbledore and the Ministry lay before him—he had created two for himself and had pulled the Ace against Death that he had always, _always_ craved.

And yet, that was no longer enough.

The wizard's gaze hooded further, completely obscuring his blood-tinted eyes from view, and he dipped further into his thoughts—sliding around suggestions and contemplations, spells that had been forgotten throughout the centuries, learned only because of the gift of Salazar Slytherin's library. Rituals that he knew would break a man's soul further, shredding it apart until there was barely anything left. So many thoughts, so many contemplations and ideas and ponderings: and thus, Tom plotted.

* * *

There was no moon that night.

The lorelei settled at his back and their bodies pressed flush against one another's; desire burned deep within Tom's belly, an ache that he wished to settle—a possessive craving that reached out to encircle the siren each and every time that Heinrich came close to him, close enough to touch, to taste, to scent. As the lorelei nuzzled against the nape of his neck, Tom could feel the boy's slow, pleased smile from his own shudder of _want_.

"What gift do you have for me tonight, Tom Marvolo Riddle?" Heinrich purred against the wizard's throat, nipping and nibbling against the familiar musk of Tom's skin. It was hard to think, so very, very hard, with the one thing that he wanted more than anything else—more than, if he allowed himself to be honest, even the Horcruxes—and Tom's grasp at control was fraying quickly.

"A wish," he whispered huskily. "Make a wish and I shall grant it."

There was silence—and then, finally—

"_Your world_. That is my wish," the lorelei murmured, voice Dark with intent.

Tom's eyes widened in surprise and he shivered at the tone of Heinrich's voice; he turned, gesture abrupt so that he could look into the lorelei's gaze and ensure that what he had heard was, in fact, what the siren had asked for: but there was no longer anyone there. The complete and utter sense of _loss_ trembled within him, and Tom had to stifle it sharply before it eventually emerged from his mouth in a feral cry.

But the wish had been made.

And Tom would go to any lengths necessary to grant it.


End file.
